


(Almost) Sex on The Beach, or How Sherlock And John And Unpredictable Factors Ballsed Up Several Attempts At Hot Beach Sex

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Beaches, Lactation, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:17:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both John and Sherlock are hoping for sex at the beach, but several factors prevent it from happening. Most unfortunate, indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Almost) Sex on The Beach, or How Sherlock And John And Unpredictable Factors Ballsed Up Several Attempts At Hot Beach Sex

**Author's Note:**

> There is /almost/ porn in this one. I am so, so sorry.  
> This took ages to write because I don't even fucking know what's going on, dear god. This was not my idea.  
> Enjoy the hilarity. Know that I nearly died writing this.  
> Mpreg and breastfeeding. Don't like, turn around. See you later.

Arms crossed. "You're not wearing that outside." 

 

"I am too." Defiant nose-wrinkle. 

 

Aggravated sigh. "Sherlock, that's a bikini." 

 

"John, I don't fit in a one-piece." Pointed gesturing. 

 

Harrumph. "Fine, whatever. But I'm not fighting off the other Alphas." 

 

"Sure you are. Don't kid yourself, you like the way it looks." Subtle pirouette. 

 

Amused chuckle. "I meant I'm not fighting off the other Alphas when they see me fuck you into the sand." 

 

* * *

 

Long, prehensile toes wriggled into the sand, drawing the eye from their gentle slopes up along well-defined calves and knobby knees. Up past where one might expect, on such long, obviously male thighs, to find the hemline of swimming trousers, past where one might find the spandex of a tight-fitting pair of swimming bottoms. Shockingly, startlingly, up to a thin string of elasticised fabric tied into a neat bow, strings widening slightly into swaths of black fabric that hugged the rear and cupped the cock and balls of one very, very daring Sherlock Holmes. 

 

One very, very daring Sherlock Holmes who was carrying twin girls in his swollen womb. 

 

But if one ignored the impressively sizable stomach the detective sported, and continued on their merry trail upwards, one might do a double-take upon reaching the detective's chest. Twin triangles of black fabric stretched across buxom breasts, ties straining slightly at the weight of the load they supported. 

 

The full bust swayed along with the belly as the detective led the way across the beach, heavy, slow waddle exaggerated by the malleable sand as it slipped between his toes. John followed behind, cock already beginning to tent his trousers, as the hot sun beamed down on his pregnant mate. The sunlight only served to enhance the glow of that pale skin, the swing of the wide hips made the black-clad arse jiggle enticingly. Oh yes, pregnancy had been kind to Sherlock, hadn't it? 

 

"I think I'll go for a swim," the detective called over his shoulder, right arm cupping his belly as he waddled towards the shoreline. John nodded dumbly and set down his chairs and towels not too far from shore, close enough to the water that he could easily see Sherlock but far enough back that the waves wouldn't reach him as they ebbed and flowed. 

 

John had just settled into his chair and leant to pick up his book when he cast a glance at the water and choked on the briny air. Out in the water, a rogue belly floated above the waterline, like a bloated shark circling its prey. A few moments passed before the book fell from John's hands, the doctor roaring with laughter at the sight, watching through tear-streaked eyes as the disembodied belly made a slow turn so it faced the shoreline broadside. 

 

John was holding his face in his hands when the body attached to the impressive girth surfaced, dark curls swinging in front of the detective's eyes for several seconds before he swiped them back with one hand. Water dripped down the angles of his face and the tips of his locks, pooling in the hollow of his throat and running in rivulets down over the ample curves of his chest and belly. If it hadn't been for the utterly comical sight of the apparent belly shark-fin he'd seen just moments before the rest of the detective surfaced, it would be unbelievably hot, but John couldn't wipe the thought from his mind. He was wheezing and red in the face, clutching at his stomach as he laughed uncontrollably. 

 

Sherlock looked towards the shore and saw his mate having a conniption in his chair; he could hear the laughter ringing out even from his position out in the thigh-deep water. He frowned, first at the noise and then as one of the girls in his belly gave a solid kick. "Calm down, there's not enough room in there for shenanigans," he murmured, pushing back against the foot and waddling slowly towards the shore to see what the fuss was about. 

 

John felt his skin cool as a great shadow loomed over him, and he couldn't help but bark out a laugh and clap a hand over his mouth when he opened his eyes and saw Sherlock standing in front of him, looking put out. "S-sorry," he wheezed, putting a hand on his abdomen as the muscles twinged with pain from his laughter. 

 

"What on earth are you carrying on about?" Sherlock asked, water dripping from his belly button and dripping onto John's knee. His left hand was on his back, and his right on his belly, both rubbing idly to soothe kicking infants and sore muscles. John inhaled deeply several times and then tried to pull himself together, only dissolving into giggles once more before he managed to speak. 

 

"Sorry. When you were out there, swimming on…your back, all I could see above the water was this great bloody _belly_ and it just looked so strange, I couldn't help but laugh." John hiccuped at the end, wincing. "It was the funniest thing I've seen all week." 

 

Sherlock's frown deepened and his lower lip pulled into a pout. "I know I'm huge, John, you don't have to rub it in," he said, and tried to relax his body into the natural pouting state it took on when he was standing - hips out, arms crossed in defiance. It didn't help John's situation, however, when the belly seemed to grow before his eyes and those full breasts impeded Sherlock's arms from crossing fully. John managed to turn his cough of laughter into a surreptitious clearing of the throat, and he proceeded to fumble out of his chair and into a standing position. 

 

"No, love, I'm not making fun of you. I know you're big, but it's for good reason, and you and I both know I love it. It was just funny, that's all. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings." John leaned down and pressed two kisses to the salty skin of Sherlock's round belly before standing on tiptoes and planting a kiss on his mate's pouty lips. "Want to get back in the water? I know it makes your back feel better," John asked soothingly, settling his hand on Sherlock's lower back and pushing his fingers lightly into the tight muscles. 

 

Sherlock winced and nodded, reaching for John's hand and squeezing it in his own as his frown faded. "It does," he admitted, and shifted his weight so it was even on both legs once more. "But you're coming with me this time." He tugged on the doctor's hand and John followed him at an easy pace as they sloughed through the sand on their way to the shore. 

 

"Ooh, that's nice, isn't it?" John said with a smile as he started to walk into the warm water, droplets spraying up and alighting on the hair of his thighs as he waded out deeper. Sherlock nodded and sighed as the water buoyed him, relaxing the strain on his muscles caused by the twins in his belly. He rubbed his stomach with both hands as the gentle sway of the water lulled them back into easy sleep, smiling as the lazy rolling and kicking ceased. 

 

Trying to avoid another laughing episode, Sherlock chose to swim belly-down this time. He enjoyed the cool water running through his hair, loosing the tight curls and turning them wavy, and loved the lightness the water gave to his gravid frame. He felt freer than he had in months, the weight and pain almost constantly plaguing him briefly suspended. 

 

However, he had to come up for air sometime, and with a great inhalation the detective surfaced once more, and felt a bit peculiar as his body broke free of the water. He looked around for John, who was surfacing just a few feet away, and quirked a corner of his mouth at the man, trying to figure out what was wrong, what was missing…

 

"Sherlock, get _down!_ " John hissed, waving his arms frantically and spitting water out of his mouth. 

 

Sherlock furrowed his brow and bent over, and as his breasts hit the water and floated of their own accord he realised what was different. 

 

He'd lost his goddamn top. 

 

"Shit, shit, shit," he chorused, cupping his chest in his hands as he turned about in circles, frantically looking for and desperately hoping to find the tiny bit of black fabric that had abandoned its duties. "Where the hell did it go?" 

 

John was dutifully searching for the bikini top as well, lips twitching as he fought against an amused smile. "I don't see it, Sherlock, do you know where you were when you lost it?" 

 

"Somewhere in the goddamned ocean, I'm sure," Sherlock mumbled, his head falling back as he groaned. "Sod's law. That top wasn't meant for me, I purposefully bought it small and should've known better than to think it would stay on." 

 

"Why on earth would you buy something purposefully small?" John queried, peering down into the slightly murky water, still looking for the garment. "Especially something that important?" 

 

"Did I look good in it, John?" 

 

"Of bloody course you did," the doctor returned distractedly, turning around to look behind him. 

 

"Did it make you aroused?" 

 

"Fucking hell, yes, your tits spilling out of the damned thing, of course I got hard," John replied, and then his head came up with a quiet "oh" of realisation. 

 

"Precisely." Sherlock straightened up, fingers spread wide as they cupped the ample flesh of his chest. "Right then, suck on them so we can go." 

 

John had to pick his jaw up off the ocean floor, and he was pretty sure a bloody great anglerfish had taken up residence somewhere in his mouth while it hung open. "What?" he spluttered, coming back to his senses. 

 

"You were aroused, I lost my top, I'm holding my breasts, you can't look away. Suck on them already." Sherlock squeezed his breasts pointedly, and John's heart skipped a beat. 

 

"Alright, then," the doctor managed, and waded through the water until he was standing before his mate, his mouth hovering over a pale, wet hand cupping an even paler mound of tissue. He grinned up at Sherlock, open-mouthed, before prying those long fingers back one by one until the flesh sagged, unsupported, the brown and hardened nipple presented to John's mouth. He licked it once, tongue tasting first salty sea water and second sweet colostrum. 

 

Sherlock shuddered and gripped John's shoulder with his now-free hand, mouth dropping open and eyes closing. "Yes, John, god please, suck them dry," he moaned. Milk dropped heavy in his breasts, and he felt his hand grow wet as colostrum started to leak from his nipple. "Leaking, John, they're so full of milk." 

 

John tried to stay aroused as he suckled, but as Sherlock breathed the last phrase - "leaking" - the only image his brain could supply was that of a whale expelling water through its blowhole. He fumbled in his sucking rhythm, nearly choking on the sweet, thick milk when it went down his trachea instead of his esophagus. A violent coughing fit ensued, and Sherlock ended up letting both his breasts hang free as he clapped his mate on the back. 

 

"What on earth is wrong now?" he frowned, realising that John was laughing again. He let go of John's shoulders and replaced his hands on his leaking breasts. 

 

It would decidedly be Not Good to relay the mental image that had caused his reaction, so John attempted to make a quick recovery. "Sorry, I was thinking about, erm, the bloke who's going to find the bikini top and wonder who lost it." 

 

"That's hardly laugh-worthy material," Sherlock frowned, but didn't argue the point and let John return to his eager suckling. Sherlock let John nearly empty the first side before gently pushing his head away and nodding toward the second, and John swiped a hand across his mouth and shook his head. 

 

"Inside. I'm getting cramped up, bending over like that." He replaced Sherlock's hand on the still-full breast as well as the empty one, and put a hand on Sherlock's lower back to guide him out of the water. 

 

"Fine, but anyone who walks by will see your erection," Sherlock pointed out. 

 

"Oh, be real. They could see it from Sussex," John countered, but adjusted his cock so the tent was less obvious and led Sherlock towards the shore. 

 

They were nearly out of the water when, out of nowhere, Sherlock's step faltered and he went down with a splash in the water. He landed on his bum and grunted, but the water cushioned his fall and he merely spluttered indignantly as he floundered around to get up. John bent to lift him out of the water, but Sherlock let out a roar of laughter and lifted his left leg out of the shallow water. 

 

"Your top." Sherlock's laugh only increased in volume and he clutched his belly as it shook with laughter. The black fabric dripped as it hung from the crook of his big toe. "You must have lost it as soon as you ducked under." 

 

"I thought…I thought I felt freer than usual, but I didn't expect it to be literal," Sherlock wheezed, and John plucked the black fabric off Sherlock's foot and laughed as he knelt to tie the garment back over his mate's chest. 

 

"Come on, then, let's get back to the house, before you lose any more clothing," he chuckled, heaving Sherlock out of the water with a grunt. 

 

They managed to make it back to their house without incident, Sherlock looking around to make sure no one was close by to see his lopsided chest. Thankfully, the coast was literally clear, their view of the water unobstructed by other tourists. "Lucky, that," he murmured, hefting himself up the stairs. 

 

Sherlock sagged onto the couch as soon as the door was closed, and fumbled to untie his top - properly this time - so John could drink empty his other breast. John straddled what was left of Sherlock's lap, rubbing his gravid belly for a few moments before ducking down to suck at the full breast. 

 

As John drank, pacing himself to avoid both overfilling himself and making Sherlock's tender nipple sore, Sherlock started to wriggle. John increased the vacuum behind each suck, fairly certain that the reaction was due to Sherlock's growing arousal, which he couldn't see but assumed was present beneath the giant belly. However, when Sherlock pushed him away a few seconds later, John was very confused. 

 

"I've got sand. In my bits. From when I fell," Sherlock muttered, wriggling and reaching around his belly to pull at his bottoms. "It's starting to dry, and it's very itchy." 

 

That did it for John, and he very nearly fell off the detective's lap as he started once more to cry from laughter. "I can't do it, Sherlock, god. I can't keep it together today, not with you." He leant forward until his forehead bumped against and rested upon the curve of his mate's swollen stomach, his stomach muscles aching as he chuckled. 

 

"I need a shower, come on." Sherlock pushed John to the floor, where the doctor lay laughing weakly for a few more moments. The pregnant man heaved himself to his feet and left John lying on the floor, shaking his head. 

 

"Be in soon," John called, voice hoarse. He flopped onto his side and ran a hand over his face. 

 

"Hurry up, I can't get this damned sand out of my arse on my own!" Sherlock hollered from the toilet, and John gave up on his battle against insanity. Rather, he embraced his new psychological state and laughed as he went to join his mate on a sand-removal expedition. He stopped dead in his tracks as he heard Sherlock shout again. 

 

"Dear christ, is that a snail on my arse?" 


End file.
